


Show Me If You Like It

by stepantrofimovic



Series: Fidelis et Fortis [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: I'm Sorry, Jealous Richelieu, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, also my headcanon about how these two got together is apparently PWP, but it's flimsy, creative uses of Richelieu's desk, hints of period-typical homophobia, technically porn with a semblance of plot, why is this my life now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/pseuds/stepantrofimovic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know why I called you here, Captain?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me If You Like It

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Waldeck's _Why Did We Fire The Gun_.

“Do you know why I called you here, Captain?” the Cardinal starts without preamble. He’s standing before one of the tall windows in his study. He barely bothered to turn around as Treville entered the room, choosing instead to greet him with the barest tilt of his head. As it is, his guest’s gaze can’t help but be drawn towards the Cardinal’s hand where it’s resting on the windowsill. Not for the first time, the Musketeer finds himself admiring Richelieu’s long, white fingers, before moving on to appreciating the way the light from the window frames his profile in stark relief.

It does, Treville must admit, make quite an effect.

His thoughts are derailed by the realization that he’s taking far too long to reply to the Cardinal’s question. Biting his lip, he fumbles for an answer. “I presumed that you wanted to discuss the arrangements for the protection of the King during tomorrow’s procession.” While Treville must admit that his answer is somewhat disingenuous, the feast of Corpus Christi requires the presence of both the Musketeers and the Cardinal’s guards, and it would be reasonable to assume that Richelieu wanted to talk about that.

The Cardinal scoffs. “Truly, you are the King’s most faithful guard dog. _Fidelis et fortis_!” he exclaims, finally turning around and advancing a few steps towards Treville. The Captain, in turn, is trying not to bristle too visibly at the implications conveyed by Richelieu’s words.

“No, _monsieur_ ,” the Cardinal continues without letting go of the mocking undertone, “that is not the reason I wanted to speak to you.”

“Then I am very much looking forward to hear it, because I can’t bring myself to guess your motives.”

Treville’s biting answer is rewarded with a wry smile on his interlocutor’s part. “I called you here because I thought a little conversation about your latest recruits was in order. The Regiment has gained quite a few specimens, I’ve heard. I hope all of them are up to the position.”

“You know I put my full trust in the men I choose,” Treville hedges.

Once more, the Cardinal’s lips quirk upwards into a small smirk. “And we all hope that the trust of a good Captain is well placed, don’t we.” He’s moved to stand before his desk, from which he now picks up a wad of papers covered in rows after rows of neatly-packed writing. Again, Treville is mesmerized by the way Richelieu’s agile fingers deftly tease the pages apart, finally coming to a stop near the end. As the Cardinal raises his gaze, Treville feels pinned in place by his gleaming eyes.

“You know, I find it incredibly surprising,” Richelieu starts, “that with all the care you put in choosing your recruits, you still end up accepting men whose name you don’t even know.” His voice is charged with something Treville can’t quite place, but that sends a shiver down his spine nonetheless. Despite the meaning of the words, he’s not surprised to find that the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“You are, I suppose, referring to Athos,” he replies coolly.

“Indeed. It is interesting, you must admit, to find a pseudonym among names that belong to the best families in France.”

Treville can’t help a snort of derision at that. “If nobility is your concern, Cardinal, I can assure you that Athos’ lineage is above most of the names in your papers.”

The triumphant gleam in Richelieu’s eyes immediately alerts him to his slip-up. “So you do know his real name,” the Cardinal urges.

Again, Treville finds himself biting his lip in irritation. Richelieu’s gaze slides downwards at the movement, following the Musketeer’s tongue as it swipes over his lower lip. “I do,” Treville says sharply, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And,” the Cardinal continues without pause, “I must suppose that he’s disclosed his – personal history to you as well.”

“I know exactly as much as I need to know about Athos, _monseigneur_.”

“A commendable statement indeed, coming from the person who decided that this man should become a Musketeer.” Before asking his next question, Richelieu moves nearer to Treville. The Captain has to repress the urge to take a step back. “Did you know he’s married?” Richelieu asks, with an air of feigned casualness. “Or should I say, was? There must be an entertaining story about that somewhere, I’m sure. Did you have a chance to talk about that as well?”

As Richelieu takes another step towards him, Treville draws himself to his full height. “As I’ve said, I know everything I might wish to know about Athos’ past. Now,” he continues, “if we don’t have anything else to discuss, I would prefer not to waste any more of my time with this conversation.”

A nervous twitch of the Cardinal’s hands is the only sign of his displeasure at Treville’s answer. “Perhaps I should rephrase my questions, since you find them so objectionable, Captain. Tell me, what is the exact nature of your relationship to the Musketeer Athos?”

Despite his best efforts, Treville can feel the color draining from his own face. The Cardinal’s expression tells him that he noticed the change as well. “Now I’m afraid I do not understand you at all, _monseigneur_.”

“Oh, no, my good sir,” Richelieu laughs. There’s barely one step between him and Treville now. “I’m afraid that you understand me too well. Let’s see,” he continues with faux nonchalance. “You must know that habits such as yours leave traces, if one knows where to look.”

“Again, I do not follow.” Even if the Cardinal didn’t know better, the way Treville’s hand closes convulsively over the hilt of his sword would be enough to belie his words.

Seemingly satisfied with having cornered the Captain, Richelieu takes a couple of steps back towards his desk. For one foolish moment, Treville lets himself hope that he might drop the subject entirely. Instead, he starts toying with some more sheets of paper.

“There are reports,” he starts again, letting his eyes slide from Treville’s face to the rest of the room, as if he was addressing a court of law, “of you attending some establishments that are well-known for having a – a selected clientele, if you wish. Then there’s the small matter of your past, uhm,” he coughs expressively, venom dripping from his voice, “ _frequentation_ _s_ with Monsieur de La Trémouille – a gentleman who is about as notorious for his religious extravagance as for other, more egregious forms of misconduct –”

“What,” Treville cuts him off, his voice dangerously low, “do you want from me?”

“Nothing more than what I said, Captain,” Richelieu smiles, his gaze refocusing on the man in front of him. “What is, pray tell, the nature of your relationship with the Musketeer that goes by the name of Athos?”

“He is my friend,” Treville replies, gritting his teeth. “Is this really the whole reason for this pantomime?”

The concern in Richelieu’s voice is so contrived, it makes Treville’s stomach turn. “Truly, my Captain, you disappoint me. It is, after all, an old story – a military man with a chivalrous past, worming his way into the heart – and the assets – of a young and disillusioned heiress. In your case, one merely has to get creative with the – _parts_ involved. Believe me, it isn’t too much of an effort.”

In two strides, Treville is across the room, forcing the Cardinal to take a step back towards his desk. “You leave my men out of this,” he all but growls.

Once more, Richelieu’s gaze briefly slides downwards towards the Captain’s lips. “Your _men_?” he teases, undeterred. “How many of them are involved in this? Do you –” The back of his thighs hits the desk as Treville all but lunges at him, his face inches from the Cardinal’s. One of his hands has grabbed Richelieu’s collar, keeping him upright as he scrambles to regain his balance.

They stay still for a moment, their panting breaths the only sound filling the room. Under Treville’s hand, the Cardinal is trembling.

That’s when Treville finally notices it. He sees the way Richelieu’s eyes keep straying towards his mouth. He notices his wide-blown pupils, the flush creeping up his neck where Treville’s fist is still closed around his collar. Slowly and almost pointedly, the Cardinal licks his lips.

On impulse, Treville surges forward and closes the last few inches between them. Richelieu stays still for a terrifying moment, before kissing back just as hard.

Treville doesn’t spare Richelieu anything, nipping at his lips and teasing him with his tongue, his heady triumph at every gasping breath he manages to drive out of the Cardinal mingling with a sort of reverence at the thought that he’s finally tasting that maddeningly clever mouth. He would be lying if he said he didn’t fantasize about this – at length, and in the most inappropriate times and places. For a moment, he has to stop to regain his balance.

He looks down at Richelieu’s face. The Cardinal looks positively wrecked already – his face flushed, hair and collar disheveled. He’s panting loudly, still dazed. Treville lets himself believe that what he sees in his eyes is a hint of admiration.

As the Cardinal’s tongue peeks out once again, swiping all over his lips as if to collect the last traces of Treville’s taste, the Musketeer doesn’t try to hold himself back any more. Slowly but surely, leaving one hand at the Cardinal’s throat, he lets the other slide down the length of his body. As he reaches the front of his trousers, he’s rewarded with a loud, wanton gasp as he palms at Richelieu’s rather obvious erection.

With a smirk, Treville presses down with his hand just a bit more, while Richelieu’s hips buck upwards to meet him. As he moves his other hand away from Richelieu’s collar, busying himself with undoing the front of the Cardinal’s trousers, his gaze can’t help but be drawn to Richelieu’s gleaming eyes.

“How do you know,” the Cardinal gasps, his voice just husky enough to send thrills all over Treville’s body, “that I won’t have your head for this?”

“I don’t,” Treville smirks, before sliding down to his knees and determinedly taking Richelieu’s cock in his mouth.

The way the Cardinal moans and thrusts and scrambles for purchase against his desk over the next few minutes is more than enough of a reward for Treville’s attempt. For his part, the Captain dedicates himself to the task of finding out just how much pressure of his tongue over Richelieu’s head or fondling of his balls is enough to drive him closer and closer to the edge, without letting him fall over.

“You are,” Richelieu pants, “truly insufferable.”

Treville’s only answer is to grin and scrape his teeth _just so_ along Richelieu’s shaft. The Cardinal cries out in pleasure.

Treville is really a bit too proud of himself, he thinks as he finally takes pity on Richelieu and brings him to come in his mouth. After he’s dutifully finished swallowing and licking him clean, on a whim, he drops a light kiss on the inside of the Cardinal’s thigh before resting his cheek there. It’s an intimate gesture, almost unsettlingly so. Still shaking with the aftershocks of orgasm, Richelieu brings a hand to clumsily pat at Treville’s head.

Slowly, the Captain rises to his feet, taking into account the Cardinal’s disheveled state and his own almost painfully throbbing erection. It won’t take a moment, he thinks, as he moves to quickly undo his own trousers.

“Let me,” Richelieu says, still breathless. It takes nothing more than a few strokes of his long fingers for Treville to spill himself all over the Cardinal’s chest. As he pants through his own orgasm, he finds himself biting and sucking a bruise just below the Cardinal’s collar.

Richelieu might not let him see tomorrow’s sun, he thinks, but he’ll still have marked him. The thought is oddly gratifying.

As they both start to recover from what’s just happened, Richelieu looks up at Treville, the spark in his eyes slowly morphing from hungry to amused. As the Cardinal’s gaze roams over him, Treville slowly comes to realize that his uniform is ruined, his trousers are showing quite obvious stains in compromising places, and his mouth must be more than a little bruised.

“I’d like to see you walk back to your garrison now, Captain,” Richelieu teases him with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sending a significant glance at the mess that is the Cardinal’s own outfit, Treville answers, “You could always come with me, _monsieur_ , if you want.”

Richelieu’s laughter lets him hope that he might, after all, live to see tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome to come to [my Tumblr](http://stepantrofimovic.tumblr.com/) and have a chat about Trevilieu (or anything) any time you want. I'm also taking [prompts](http://stepantrofimovic.tumblr.com/prompts) there, if anyone's interested.


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